


You Have Rewritten Mine

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [24]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Azzan's Sense of Humor Needs A Warning Tag, Chant of Light, Emotional Struggles, Family, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, M/M, Spirit Healer Hawke, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Azzan's relationship with Faith becomes strained as the years pass. His friends also manage to find out about his little secret.





	You Have Rewritten Mine

When he and Faith had reworked their partnership, a few things had been altered. The first had been about the killing. Faith, in being a spirit that followed the Chant’s verses, had never had much of a problem with necessary death, no matter how difficult – or because of how difficult – it had been for him to swallow. The spirit had agreed that, if lives were to be saved, then cold-blooded murder would be acceptable. It was something he himself had distaste for, but considering what he’d done to the Arishok, he could not pretend the agreement wasn’t necessary.

Other new rules had needed to be applied, of course – no severance at any time, until Azzan’s death, unless Faith had turned from her purpose somehow and had become a demon, in which case every part of their contract would become null and void.

And then there had been the most important alteration: the new rules for their new bond.

Bonding with a spirit or a demon had countless layers, something not many outside of magic understood. A person could ask for help from a spirit or demon, for instance, and be granted it for only that specific moment. The spirit or demon, however, would likely remember them. If that person needed help from the spirit or demon again, they would already have a relationship, of a sort. If not that, then they could certainly speak with them multiple times if they knew where to find them. That, however, meant little. Normally, one would say that was all Merrill had. Only she oftentimes talked of speaking with the demon, which meant the two of them were able to do so often. He didn’t however, feel more than blood magic from her, and that same light sort of bond, as she used the abilities the demon taught her. It was not inside her. Not yet.

Then there was the sort of link Azzan and Faith had had previous. They had shared a sort of bond, but one that kept Faith in the Fade and Azzan safely separate. It had grown closer as they had, but had never gotten to the point where they had become one. Azzan had been the one most concerned about going any further than that; he still hadn’t trusted his own judgment, and he had feared what choosing incorrectly would cost. They had been as two sides of a mirror, hands pressed to the glass, gazes locked, but neither quite touching or being touched.

Now that glass had shattered. They were both inside his body now; Faith and he had become one as closely as they possible could while Faith still resided in the Fade. Non-mages couldn’t quite understand how they could be so intertwined when they were still on opposite sides of the Veil. That was because non-mages insisted that the two sides of the Veil were separate. They weren’t. It was more like spirits were ghosts in their world, unable to touch or be touched unless someone – a medium, perhaps – could sense them. They still existed, still saw our world, still watched and planned and acted. Possession didn’t necessitate coming over to their world. It was simply done by the demons because they _wanted_ to enter their world.

For all intents and purposes, Azzan was an abomination now.

He’d feared Fenris’ response. What he should have feared was Aveline’s.

His friend, when she’d learned, had sworn that the moment she saw anything in him like she did in Anders, he would be in the Circle. She refused to hear of Faith or his magic after that.

And speaking of Anders, things had gotten worse there, as well. Sometimes he feared that his decision to join with Faith might end the way his own possession had begun to end. Those times, he wondered if perhaps Aveline might be right.

Two years since he’d failed to rid himself of his murderous stalker, he found himself wondering just what he was sticking around Kirkwall for.

* * *

He entered Anders’ clinic, used now to the way people turned to him with wide, hopeful eyes. In the two years since he’d defeated the Arishok, the new reaction people had to his presence had slowly become normal to him. Here, that reaction had become even stronger.

He looked over to Anders’ tables, but he wasn’t there. More and more often, that was becoming the norm. Even if it were one of the odd times when his friend was there, he would likely be head-deep in papers, oblivious to the world around him, no longer hearing the moans and cries of those he’d spent years protecting. Azzan looked around. The beds were full, the crowd of those waiting long. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

These people needed a healer. If Anders was no longer interested in being what they needed, it would have to be him.

* * *

It was late by the time he finally called it quits. The clinic still had a few people within, but he’d managed to treat the largest grouping. It would have to do for now; he had to go to the Pit soon and check up on things there. It would mean Darktown’s people wouldn’t have a healer nearby for several days, perhaps a week, unless Anders managed to crawl out of whatever darkness captured his mind.

The area just outside the clinic no longer had any stragglers; he’d managed to do more than he’d thought. He rolled his shoulders and checked his connection with Faith. Over time, he’d grown accustomed to their change in bond, as well. It felt strange; sometimes he wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel, to be possessed by a spirit. He was always viscerally aware of the spirit’s existence within him, always aware of things that before would never have been in his capability to feel. He need only touch Faith’s mind to feel life all around him, to sense demons and their energies, to almost see Faith’s realm in the Fade around him. Faith easily communicated with him, something he hadn’t thought would be something they might have to limit. It was often as if they shared a mind, even when he’d insisted they do no such thing; he could understand her every thought, even without words, and he knew she could do the same.

And more and more often, he was thinking of the spirit as a _she_. As a gender-aligned entity not unlike a human. He feared, sometimes, what that might mean. Sometimes he didn’t fear it at all. Those times were worse.

Aegis popped his head up as Azzan crossed the threshold of the clinic; the mabari stood up with a yawn, stretched, and took his place by Azzan’s side.

He hadn’t traveled alone since he’d been ordered by the killer following him to bring someone with him at all times. _You aren’t always safe,_ the letter cautioned. _I cannot watch you every minute. I will not lose you to those minutes._ Azzan shivered, even though he’d become accustomed to the dread of those Wednesday letters. Aveline would be coming tomorrow morning to take Aegis out to practice with a failing recruit. He would be showing her three new letters then.

They’d been forced to find illicit ways of handing off said information as time passed; it became more and more difficult to pretend he wasn’t informing his guard captain friend of the goings-on of his stalker. But he didn’t dare let the transaction be known; he could never be certain what would set the man off, turn him from ally to enemy. And with the power he’d sensed – power that scared him still, power he sometimes felt the whisper of outside his home or out along Hightown or along the edges of the docks or the gallows – he knew better than to make such a person an enemy.

Aegis was Azzan’s compromise; he wasn’t going to let this person take away full freedom of movement. He wouldn’t be caged within his own life, waiting for a friend to escort him around town. Aegis was happy to go with him everywhere; the mabari enjoyed the outdoors, the sense of importance as he walked with Azzan around the city. Even better to him was the attention; while he always waited for Azzan to give the okay before allowing pets, he lavished in the spoiled attention of Azzan’s fans.

Azzan, however, was so used to fear and dread that even Faith had become inured to the feel of it within him. The spirit worked overtime to keep him calm. It was the predominant reason why the spirit wanted them to meld together fully. It would be able to calm him more efficiently if they were of the same existence. But the fear kept him cognizant of the constant danger. He wouldn’t trade it for complacency.

Besides. They both knew he would be feeling this dread no matter what. With how Meredith was reacting to his existence – posting templars just outside his home, having them touch their swords as he passed, seeing her watching, eyes narrowed, whenever he took a step anywhere – the thin veil of protection he gleaned from his new name and title pressed thin around him, a barrier as delicate as porcelain. Though that dread, too, had begun to numb with time.

Aegis led the way back through Darktown and up to Lowtown’s streets. They met little resistance, nothing more than a few looks and a small group that quickly turned away when one of Aveline’s guards made their way past him. He greeted them and pressed on, Aegis barking happily as the guard bent to one knee and thanked the mabari for helping with her training. The spoiled brat managed to get her to rub his belly.

He and the guardswoman spoke for several minutes, Aegis lapping up nonstop attention, before they finally parted and Azzan made it up to Hightown. The place was bustling, a middle-of-the-day energy that led countless through the market streets and several more into the Keep or the Chantry. Her, the templars were in full force, watching him from behind their masks as he and Aegis walked through the crowds back to their home. An itch crept along his shoulders, a feeling so common now it did little more than remind him to keep his head up. He couldn’t feel the demonic presence of his stalker, but that meant little. He’d learned when they’d been chasing the man that he was able to separate himself from his demon. He could do that at any time and stand right next to Azzan, and Azzan might never know.

And if Azzan tried to find him, or follow him, he might find only the demon, waiting for him.

He let himself into his home, feeling like he might as well be locking himself inside, after all.

* * *

“Varric,” Azzan warned, just as the dwarf was about to pick up a card he’d dropped onto the top of the card pile. He sighed.

“Spoilsport.” He diligently picked up the correct card and put the one he’d intended to pretend to grab into the discard pile. With a roll of his eyes, Azzan reached over, grabbed the card, and shuffled it into the deck.

“You just need to not get caught,” Fenris said, and blithely ignored the narrow-eyed, suspicious look Azzan sent him.

Varric chuckled. “Shouldn’t have said that out loud, elf.” Anders chuckled as he looked over his cards. Varric took a swig from his mug, clacking the glass against Sebastian’s. “Come on, you can’t be sober all the time.”

Sebastian, sitting next to Hawke, merely cocked an eyebrow. “Can I not? Hawke is.”

Fenris snorted, even though Hawke’s mug was nearly as untouched as Sebastian’s. “You just haven’t seen him drunk.”

Hawke blinked. As far as he knew, Fenris had never seen him drunk, either. He turned to look at the man. “Huh?”

Fenris’ lips twitched. “Perhaps that’s for the best. Wouldn’t want to ruin Hawke’s reputation.”

Azzan paled. Had he done something stupid at some point? He was in the habit of numbing the dread with alcohol now; at least twice a month, he was passed out in Varric’s room or hobbling his way back to his mansion. A couple of times, he’d found himself sleeping at the side of Fenris’ mansion. He’d always thought he’d gone there to feel like he was close to someone, or to be creepily needy, or something. Had he… He looked at Fenris with wide eyes. Had he initiated something inappropriate? Had he gone to Fenris and…

Fenris slid his gaze to Azzan and smirked. “That’s right. I know your secret.”

He blanched. Surely he hadn’t gone and begged Fenris to take him back?

Varric groaned. “Well, game’s up, Marshmallow,” he said. Azzan turned to the dwarf just as the man patted him consolingly on the back. “Might as well come clean to the rest of them.” The dwarf pointed at Azzan’s mug.

Come clean? To all of them? He was certain they all knew he cared for Fenris. He was horrible at hiding it, if even Merrill knew. But saying it out loud, to everyone, while they were supposed to simply be having a fun night? Why would Varric tell him to do that?

Faith poured itself around him, through him, as the pain and humiliation swamped him. He took a deep breath and calmed.

“No need. Drink up,” Fenris said, and nodded to his glass, as well. “They’ll figure it out quick enough, I expect.”

Azzan blinked. He looked at the amber liquid floating in his glass atop the wooden table. A light clicked, audibly, inside him. “Oh!” he said, and scooted back from the table. As if the mug was about to attack him. “Oh. Uh…” He cleared his throat. “You’ve heard me, then?”

“What?” Sebastian asked. “Every man turns addle-witted when he falls into his drinks.”

“See?” Varric said. “That’s why we insisted you join us tonight. No one’s seen you ‘addle-witted,’ and it’s about time we did.”

Fenris grinned. “I have, in fact. Quite a bit.”

“Well, now even I’m curious,” Aveline said, placing her card down and taking another. Merrill had nearly forgotten about the cards in her hand; they tipped forward as she stared wide-eyed at him, tilting far enough that even Azzan, on the other side of the table, was able to see the tips of their faces.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that,” he said, sending the words to Fenris. The elf’s smirk altered a bit. Fenris tilted his head to the side.

“It’s… fine,” he said, with a pause so long Azzan filled it in ten times before it was filled. There was something strange about the look on Fenris’ face. The equivalent of sucking on a lemon, Azzan thought, though it seemed almost like he’d bitten down on something a bit too sweet.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right.” Not like a sense of humor was _bad,_ per se. Except when it made people give him the stink-eye whenever he opened his mouth to say something he thought hilarious.

“Might as well hit us with it,” Aveline said, nudging Hawke to remind him it was his turn. “They won’t let you live it down now.”

He looked at Fenris. He couldn’t remember when he’d spoken to the elf for him to know of it. That alone was disconcerting. But to know the man hadn’t immediately spread the news about it – why hadn’t he? And what had happened between them for Fenris to know?

For the millionth time, he berated himself for relying on liquor to soothe the fear. He knew better by now, didn’t he?

He sighed and reached for the mug. Sebastian grabbed his wrist. “You needn’t if you don’t want to,” the man said. His face was earnest as he peered into Azzan’s gaze. “You don’t have to tell us anything.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a sigh. “It’s not… _bad_.”

Fenris snorted again. “Yes, it is.”

He looked at the man. Fenris still looked back and forth between his cards and the ones piled in the center of the table. His lips were lifted in a wide smirk.

Azzan’s heart melted. Fenris was _teasing_ him about it.

He lifted the glass and took a big gulp. A few more, and he set the glass back down. Every one of his friends stared at him with eyes nearly hanging from their sockets. “No coughing?” Merrill asked, looking at him. “I coughed for minutes. Isabela thought I might have choked.”

He smiled. “No coughing.” He was more used to the taste of ale than they might expect. He didn’t often drink to excess – well, he hadn’t, before the last two years – but that didn’t mean he didn’t drink often. Sometimes, it had been one of the few types of drink their family could afford. He clapped Sebastian on the shoulder. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve got it _well in hand_.” He pulled the mug closer for emphasis. With Fenris sitting next to the chantry brother, Azzan was able to see how the elf closed his eyes for a moment as if willing for patience. On his other side, Varric groaned.

They resumed the game, though everyone watched him as if he might burst into stardust at any second. At first, nothing changed. He certainly didn’t feel any different, despite how Faith sat sullen within him. This, he told the spirit, was different than the other times. This time, he would be hanging out with friends. There was a completely different feeling to drinking with friends than drinking alone, or with a friend as chaperon. The spirit would soon learn the same.

“Damn,” Varric said, flinging his cards onto the table. “Are you sure you’re not cheating, Choir Boy?”

“Most certainly not,” Sebastian said, leaning back as Azzan started pulling the cards into a pile to be shuffled again. “It’s a sin to cheat.”

“How are you even real?” the dwarf grumbled. He waved Nina in the moment the woman came to the door. She switched out their mugs with fresh ones and headed out again.

“Good thing we aren’t playing for coin,” Merrill said, adding her own cards to the pile Azzan had going. “I’d be even poorer.”

“He’d have a _king’s ransom_ by now,” Azzan agreed, grinning widely. Fenris covered his mouth and shook his head.

“Here we go,” Varric muttered.

“Huh?” Merrill asked.

“Hawke,” Aveline said, and she covered her mouth, too. Her eyes widened. “Was that…”

“Don’t spoil it for the rest of them,” Varric said, holding up a hand. He grinned. “I wanna see how the rest react to this. It’s a shame I didn’t get to see your reaction, Elf.”

Fenris harrumphed. “For the best, then, I’d say.” He looked to Azzan again. Azzan caught his gaze, even as he struggled to coordinate his fingers into letting him shuffle. He dropped them everywhere. He blinked down at the cards until Sebastian scooted them over and took them up himself. “I was quite surprised to learn of it, however. Why was it hidden? Why not just admit it?”

“That would be partially my fault,” Varric said. Aveline looked back and forth between them, her hand still covering her mouth. Her brows, however, were turning into smiley faces, as if her mirth just couldn’t be contained. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t find out, Aveline. You’d known him for a year before I did.”

“I know,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I guess I should have noticed. I probably did? I mean, he likely did it. I just… never listened for it, I guess. I never suspected.”

“Now that,” Fenris said, “I can understand.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Merrill asked. “I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Perhaps because he makes a fool of himself with them.” Yet, even as Fenris said it, his cheeks flushed red. Azzan grinned.

“It started when I needed Bartrand to take me seriously,” Azzan said. “Apparently puns put a _serious_ damper on that.” Fenris covered his face with his hand. Merrill giggled. “And then I became more known as an apostate, and hiding my sense of humor _magically_ made everyone consider me more powerful than I am. Like some stalwart warrior. With you all… well, it’s better for me to _be_ _out of humor_ as opposed to you guys.”

“And when he’s drunk, it’s in every sentence with this guy,” Varric said with a roll of his eyes. “You can’t stop him.”

“Maker forbid I _pass a sentence on someone,”_ he said, and this time, nearly all of his friends closed their eyes and breathed deep. He grinned wide. “Should I stay _sober as a judge?”_

That one earned a couple of groans.

“Hawke,” Sebastian said, and he was covering his mouth with his hand, same as Aveline, “you needn’t fear our judgment. Your humor is… unorthodox, but it gladdens me to see you in such good spirits.” Azzan grinned wider. It took a dew moments, but the man realized his own pun. He shook his head. “I much prefer you honest, like this.”

“Same!” Merrill said, raising her hand.

They’d lost all semblance of order; Hawke couldn’t remember whose turn it was or what they’d been doing. He blinked sloe-eyed at his friends. “So...” He grinned. “More _funny stuff?”_

Varric groaned.

“Sure, Hawke,” Fenris said. The smile the elf sent him made Azzan’s insides curl with warmth. “More funny stuff.”

“We’re going to regret this, aren’t we?” Aveline asked.

“Most assuredly,” Fenris said. But he didn’t take his gaze from Azzan’s, and he didn’t stop smiling.

* * *

The days were turning almost oppressively warm as the month of Ferventis rolled around. Azzan walked with Aegis down Lowtown’s streets, meeting with the merchants and seeing what they had for sale. They gave him little more attention than they did before he became known as the Champion, and for that he was always eternally grateful. The kowtowing Hightown’s merchants did when he neared was almost obscene. The only good thing about it was watching the templars stew where they stood. Though that, too, would lose its shine if Meredith found a way to worm through the nobility’s expectations. No matter what she said, it was the nobility, and their fear, that kept her in power until they chose a new viscount.

Something they had yet to do. But that wasn’t something he enjoyed thinking about.

He got an itchy feeling between his shoulder blades just about the time Aegis started growling. He stiffened. It would be best to get into a fight somewhere where innocent bystanders wouldn’t get involved. It would also be best to do it somewhere out of templar eyesight. Broadcasting his magic was not the best way to keep tensions from boiling over.

After only a moment of thought, he turned as if to head toward The Hanged Man. He waved to a few passersby, stopped for a moment at the smith’s store, and finally moved toward The Hanged Man. The back rooms were often empty, and if not empty, then close to it. Anyone chasing after him would think he was simply going up to meet with Varric, or heading back to meet with someone privately. And if they had worse intentions, it would be a good time for him to turn to face their attack. He made a short “tsk” sound. Immediately Aegis quieted at his side.

He led the way into the tavern, waved hello to the waitress and to a couple of patrons. The spot where Isabela usually stood was empty, as it had been the past two years. The sight always left him a little melancholy; he didn’t think he would ever be able to stop mourning her departure, at least a little, even though it was what she had wanted. He wanted to keep those he loved close. It was something he’d never been able to stop wanting. Faith tried to numb that pain for him. He didn’t know if it was succeeding or if the pain had simply diminished slightly with time. Either way, it came and went in waves, hitting him hardest when he saw that empty space.

He walked up the steps, Faith awake in his mind, as it always was when it sensed the rise of pain or panic or anger inside him. It curled around him, burst out as he passed Varric’s rooms. He knew it was calling Varric with the aura they shared. He took a deep breath. It was what he’d have done, but it felt wrong for the spirit to choose the action for itself. Faith conceded to his concern, handing the aura back over to him completely. It calmed his racing heart as he moved forward. They… would have to talk about that one.

He barely made it five more steps before the people he’d felt following him slammed through the front doors of the tavern and raced up the steps behind him.

Azzan turned. He expected – he didn’t know. Bandits? Templars? But not the Carta. The Carta rarely ever left Darktown, and didn’t often dare trek anywhere further north. No matter how necessary they may have been for Orzammar – something Varric loved to snark about – they were still openly regarded as nothing more than a criminal organization. He pulled out his staff just as the dwarves lined up along the hallway, two rows of three. Varric opened his door and blinked. “How the – Hawke, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” he said, then, an instant later, “ _did_ I do anything to you?”

“Get the Hawke’s blood!” one of the dwarves with a battleaxe yelled. The rest shouted, raised their own weapons, and charged.

Varric lifted Bianca from his back. “Only you, Hawke!”

Azzan slammed a glyph on the ground and hopped back. The two dwarves in the front, trapped in place, stopped the rest from following after him. Aegis jumped up and tore into the one of Azzan’s left. He placed another glyph down as the dwarves in the back turned to Varric. They stepped forward, onto the glowing pink circle, only to be launched down the stairs. “I swear, I didn’t do anything! I haven’t been to Darktown in days, and I haven’t fought the Carta in weeks! I haven’t stopped any trades or helped Aveline arrest anyone. This time, it wasn’t me!”

“So, what?” Varric said, shooting a dwarf in the head before he could get back up, “just seeing your face pisses them off now?”

“And they chose to fight me? Couldn’t they _face_ the truth?”

Varric groaned. “One more of those and I just might shoot _you_.”

“Aw, _face_ it, Varric. Everyone _nose_ you’re just _mouthing off._ ” He grinned when the dwarf sent him a dirty look.

“You’re lucky your friends love you, Hawke.” The dwarf shot another without looking.

Azzan hastened the dwarf’s movements as he reloaded, then his own as he blasted one of those still trapped in the face with his staff. “The course of true love never ran smoothly, Varric.”

“Arrows do,” the dwarf muttered, and shot his third, then fourth, before the hastening wore off. Azzan stood back as Aegis took down the last man, digging into the man’s arm until blood gushed to the floor. “Leave him alive, wolfhound,” Varric said. “I’m gonna find out what’s going on here.”

Azzan nodded. Varric, with his hands already in all the dwarven pies, so to speak, had the best chance of figuring out why the Carta had chosen to go out of its way to attack him without previous provocation. Especially since most of the Carta had learned to leave well enough alone unless they considered it absolutely necessary. “Thanks, Varric. Sorry to get you caught up in this.”

“Hawke, if I got upset every time you got me involved in some mess, I would never count you as friend. And considering the puns I have to deal with, clearly I count you as a dear one. For some reason.”

“It’s the stubble,” Azzan said, and grinned when Varric chuckled.

“Damn right. Together, our sexy jawlines will rule all of Thedas.” The dwarf shook his head and opened his door wide. “In here, wolfhound.” Aegis dragged the squirming, screaming Carta member inside. “I’ll, uh, ask for someone to help with clean-up in a minute.”

Azzan nodded. He would have to take care of this, too. He looked around. Maybe there would be some kind of clue on the men.

* * *

No clues and three more attacks later, Varric finally came back to him with a name. Oddly enough, this Carta group had been from up in the Vimmark Mountains, of all places. He’d taken Varric, Anders, and Fenris with him, only to hear Fenris say it was nice to be asked to join him again. Had he said something when he’d been drunk, insinuated something cruel? Apparently his friends were in on the joke faster than him, Anders chuckled and Varric called Fenris “smooth,” and Azzan could only assume Fenris had been genuinely thanking him, for some reason.

* * *

“My father didn’t want me to have magic.”

Something he’d never considered. His father had always supported him and his magic, had been a loving teacher and caring parent. He covered his mouth with his hand as the words he’d heard his father’s memory speak. They seeped into his skin like poison. His father hadn’t wanted him to carry the ‘curse’ of magic. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. All this time, he’d fought to get Fenris to believe that magic wasn’t destructive or evil. Yet even his father saw it as a curse. Even his father thought if better if none of his children received that particular trait.

Had his father hated what the world made magic-users become? Or did he hate what magic would be used for – what mages would _always_ end up using it for, if they were backed into a corner?

Faith came forward, as it always did now. He hardly had the chance to think _wait_ before that calm numbness blanketed him from the inside out. He opened his eyes and looked forward. This wasn’t something to worry about. He knew his father loved him. Nothing else mattered.

He turned and headed to the next room.

* * *

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Faith looked up from its place on its pew, its hands folded gently in its lap. “Healbird.”

“Not this time.” He stormed up to the spirit, fists shaking at his sides. “Never do that again. My emotions – good, bad, terrible – they’re _mine_. I won’t have you taking them from me again. Put it as a law in the contract. Now.”

The spirit blinked at him. “The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace.”

“No!” He slashed the air. The air in his chest trembled beneath the strain he placed on it, half afraid Faith might choose to try to ‘fix’ his anger the way it had ‘fixed’ his pain. “The Maker wanted someone to change, to live the full spectrum of emotions possible. That’s why he created humans, with their desire and their hunger and their despair. Because we’re also capable of wanting peace and compassion for others, hungering for love and happiness, despairing because we haven’t found what we need. Living the life of a spirit means never experiencing any of those, never being anything but one or the other. But humans need them all. If I don’t feel pain, then I don’t feel love, grateful my father loved me despite his fears! Don’t you see that?” He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t matter if you understand yet or not.” He glared at the spirit. “Add it to the contract. Or leave. Those are the only choices I’m giving you.”

The spirit blinked. “Bitter is sorrow, ate raw and often, poison that weakens and does not kill.”

“Eaten _raw and often._ ” Azzan stressed the word, his teeth gritted. “I love Fenris. It’s a light to you, is it not?” Faith nodded. “Yet he won’t himself love me back. He won’t even let himself be with me, afraid of what it makes him feel. That hurts me. You would take that from me. Would take the pain of love from me.” Faith sat, quiet. Something in the spirit’s stance said it was listening. Finally. “For humans, rage and pain and sorrow do not have to corrupt us into monsters. It can give us empathy.”

For long, long moments, Faith finally sat. Finally the contract formed between them. At the top, above even taking over his body, the new law was formed: _Leave Azzan Hawke_ _his freedom of all emotion_ _._ Beneath that, in much smaller script, _Faith will learn of empathy._

He sighed, so relieved it left a phantom pain in his chest, as the iron control he’d exercised finally relaxed. He held out his hand and dared smile. “I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Faith nodded. “At last did the Maker made men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, with souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, endless possibilities.”

Azzan shook his head. “Our hearts may not be so immutable as all that.”

The spirit shifted forward. “An unquenchable flame,” it murmured.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “There is that.” He looked over the contract. Thank the Maker. He turned to Faith. “For me, remember that, no matter how much it hurts me, I will always love Fenris. If you can understand that, then the rest will come in time.”

Faith nodded. He could see tendrils of its aura, like hair, slip past its hood. “When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me and the taste of blood fills my mouth, then in the pounding of my heart I hear the glory of creation.”

“You have grieved as I have,” Azzan said, continuing the prayer for the spirit. This time, he sat at the pew. Faith sat beside him, its head tilted attentively as he spoke. “You, who made worlds out of nothing. We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay, comforting each other in our art.” He nodded. “Even the Maker feels sorrow. It’s not evil or cruel or unacceptable.”

“I… will learn. Healbird.”

He nodded. “I’ll make sure of it.”


End file.
